Family Ties
by fieldagent85
Summary: Ever wonder where Abbey's nephew Max came from?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One February, 2003 8:23 P.M.  
Washington, D.C.

"You know, we could have gone home an hour ago."

With her feet propped up on her desk, CJ Cregg used her chopsticks to fish around her container of shrimp fried rice. Will and Elsie silently fought over the pork lo mein, attacking each other with threatening glares. Josh and Toby shrugged and swapped containers- Josh's sweet and sour chicken for Toby's general tso chicken. Donna, who had recently decided she abhorred Chinese food, was finishing up some paperwork for Josh in his office at his request.

"Yeah, but see, this way we get to have Chinese food paid for in full by the tax dollars of the American people," Josh replied, popping a piece of chicken his mouth.

"Fair point," CJ conceded.

Suddenly, the office door flew open, granting entrance to Carol, Margaret, and Ginger. Without saying a word to their respective bosses, they eached grabbed an unclaimed container from CJ's desk and quickly exited the room just as quietly as they had come in. CJ swung her legs off the desk and leaned in to survey the damage.

"Damnit, they took the spare ribs."

Will flung a water chesnut as his sister, which landed on her nose. She frowned and flicked it back in his direction.

"Elsie, go forth without trepidation or qualm to reclaim our coveted spare ribs!" Will demanded. "Anon!"

"Get your own spare ribs, Shakespeare," Elsie replied, rolling her eyes.

Elsie looked up and noticed all pleading eyes were rested on her.

"Please," CJ murmured with a mouth full of fried rice.

"You provide us with spare ribs and I'll provide you with general tso chicken," Josh bargained with her.

"Fine."

Elsie put her container down on the table and hopped up.

"But if you don't keep your word, the next few remarks I write for the First Lady are going to be at your expense."

"And we all know there's nothing Mrs. Bartlet would like more," Toby commented.

With that, Elsie left the office in search of the assistants guilty of absconding the spare ribs.

"Pass the soy sauce," CJ requested.

Toby grabbed a couple packets and tossed them to her.

"So, guess who I ran into today," Josh said.

"Who?"

"The Bourbon kid."

"Jean-Paul?" CJ questioned.

"A rose by any other name…" Toby trailed off.

"And? What happened?"

"He couldn't stop talking about Charlie, go figure," Josh replied.

"Nothing like a boyfriend jealous of his girlfriend's ex," Will commented. "I have been there many a time."

"I'm sure you have, Willy," CJ laughed.

Will frowned.

"Elsie got to you, didn't she?"

CJ shrugged and turned her gaze to her container of fried rice.

"Anyway," Josh continued. "Evidently, Zoey and…Marquis de Lafayette had lunch with the First Lady yesterday and, instead of being appropriately impressed by his extensive lineage, the First Lady changed the subject and asked him if he had any inkling as to what acetylsalicylic acid might be. Needless to say, that brought him down just a little bit."

"Yeah, no kidding," CJ replied. "I'm feeling inadequate just thinking about it."

"It appears Mrs. Bartlet has a greater affection for Adolf Hitler than she does for the Bourbon kid."

"That's almost hard to believe," Toby said dryly.

"And, the Bourbon kid seems to think her loyalty to Charlie has led to her, what I believe he called, 'insufficient number of fondness' toward him. One could assume that by number, he meant amount, but I'm not really inclined to defend him at this particular moment in time," Josh said.

As the door burst open suddenly for the second time in under five minutes, all current occupants of the room lifted their heads to the impromptu intruder.

"Josh," Elsie said, breathlessly. "There's a guy in the lobby fighting with the agents, ranting about family loyalty and nepotism…I don't know, but he's asking for you."

"The crazy guy ranting about family loyalty in the lobby is asking for me? There's no way he's in my family if he's ranting about loyalty. We don't know the meaning of the word."

Reluctantly, Josh put down his food and stood up. Elsie returned to her seat beside Will, pilfering his lo mein while he focused on Josh's departure.

Josh swaggered through the hallway until he reached the lobby, where he saw that Elsie had indeed been speaking the truth. Three or four Secret Service agents were attempting to detain the alleged offender but loosened their grip on him when Josh approached them.

"You know this man, Mr. Lyman?" One of the agents questioned.

Josh shrugged and shook his head.

"I don't know." He turned to the young man. "I know you?"

"No, I…" The young man stuttered. It was now clear to Josh and the agents that he was slightly inebriated. "I…saw you on TV, on Capitol Beat. I just…I need to talk to someone in White House."

"Doesn't look like that's gonna happen, buddy. You don't just barge into the White House and start agitating our agents. You wanna talk to someone in the White House, you need to make an appointment."

The young man began shaking his head fervently.

"You don't understand."

Josh placed his hands confidently on his hips and looked him in the eye.

"What don't I understand?"

The man, still held in the agents' firm grasp, took a deep breath for answering.

"I'm the President's nephew."

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Max." Josh repeated the name to himself, ruminating on the possibilities before shaking his head. "No, the President doesn't have a nephew named Max."

The man who called himself Max, who had, by now, been released from the hold of the agents, reached into his pocket and pulled out an old, yellowing photograph. He held it in front of Josh's astonished eyes.

"Then how else would I have this?"

It was a black and white picture of the President and First Lady looking younger than Josh had ever seen them, and he thought he had seen everything. They were standing in a city that looked to him like Boston, or what he remembered of it from his college days at Harvard. Josh snagged the photograph out of Max's hand and turned it over. There, written in a handwriting that vaguely resembled the First Lady's, the words 'To Michael- With love, Abbey and Jed, 1966' were scribbled. 1966. Josh paused and squinted his eyes in deep thought. The First Couple had been married in 1967. Their wedding portrait was the earliest photograph Josh had seen of them together, and the earliest photograph that had ever been released to the public at large. This guy had to be telling the truth.

Josh titled his head toward the desk in the lobby.

"Sign in."

Max rushed over to the desk and signed the log.

"It's okay, guys. I'll take this," Josh said to the agents. "The President's in the Residence anyway, and he looks harmless enough. He causes any trouble, it's on me."

The agents nodded solemnly and allowed Josh to lead Max into the West Wing offices.

"You better be telling the truth," Josh said as they entered his office.

"I am. I swear."

Josh handed the photograph back to him.

"Sit down."

Max complied, and Josh left the office momentarily, shouting Donna's name at the top of his lungs. He reentered the room, with Donna following close behind, and shut the door.

"If you're the President's nephew, how come I've never heard of you before?" Josh questioned.

"It's a long story. In short, the President…technically doesn't know I exist. I swear I'm telling the truth. I…I used to work for Congressman Fields, but since he was voted out I've been unemployed and I…"

Josh held his hand up.

"Okay, hang on, one thing at a time. First off, I don't think you're lying, Max, so you can take it easy. Second, I don't think you should be hanging around Pennsylvania Avenue after you've had a couple of beers." He turned to Donna. "Get him some coffee, will you?"

Donna nodded and left the room without hesitation.

"On the back of the photograph, it says 'To Michael.' Am I to assume that's…"

"The First Lady's brother, yes," Max replied tersely.

"Okay. And in the, what, twenty-five years since his death, neither the President nor the First Lady have been told of your existencee."

"Thirty years, but yes, that's correct."

"What about your mother?" Josh asked, sitting down on the edge of his desk and folding his arms across his chest.

"Her name was Patti Curtis. She died a few months ago."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Thanks.

"And you worked for Congressman Fields?"

"For the last three years," Max answered.

"So you live here in Washington," Josh assumed.

"Alexandria actually. Closer to Langley, if you want to get specific."

"How come you haven't come forward sooner?"

Max avoided Josh's gaze apprehensively and began wringing his hands.

"I didn't want to get in the way, and I didn't want it to seem like I was just revealing myself out of nowhere because he'd been elected president. I'm not that kind of guy."

"What's different now?" Josh questioned.

"What's different now is I need a job."

"Uh huh. Well, I admire your honesty."

"I've been searching with no avail for months now and nothing. I thought maybe the First Lady might have some use for me on her staff."

"Even I know the First Lady couldn't possibly refuse the offspring of her dead brother." He paused, blushing slightly. "Sorry, that was a pretty jackass thing to say."

"Hey, it's Washington," Max said. "You can't go a minute without someone saying something insensitive around here."

"Well, that's politics for you."

Donna returned to the office and handed a steaming mug of coffee to Max.

"Thank you."

"Sure." Donna smiled.

"Listen, Max, I'm gonna go see what I can do about this. You can wait here. This is my assistant, Donna Moss, she'll keep you entertained."

"I will?" Donna asked warily.

"Yeah. Tell him about your days milking cows in Wisconsin or…something."

Josh headed back to CJ's office as quickly as his legs would take him. Toby, Will, Elsie, and CJ were still lounging around the office finishing up what was left of the Chinese food and arguing about something or other. Josh entered the room and closed the door tightly behind him, leaning against it after he had done so.

"Hey," CJ greeted him.

"What's up with the crazy nepotism guy?" Elsie wondered.

"Well, you're not gonna believe this but, it's not my family he's a part of…it's the President's."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

CJ abandoned her shrimp fried rice and sat up straight, her eyes wide and curious.

"What's going on, Josh?"

Josh sat down on the couch beside Toby and prepared himself to inform his collegues of the information he had just learned.

"His name is Max Bennett and he used to work for Congressman Fields' office before the voters replaced him with Woodward. His mother, Patti Curtis, died a few months ago and his father, Michael Bennett…well, you know the rest."

"Oh, wow," CJ whispered.

"What's he doing crawling out of the woodwork now, after we've been in office four years?" Toby questioned, unaffected by sentiment.

"Now that Fields is out…"

"He needs a job," Toby concluded.

"Yeah."

"How do we know this guy is for real?" Will asked skeptically.

"He's got a photograph of the First Couple, clearly addressed to his father in Mrs. Bartlet's handwriting. And, not for nothing, but he does seem pretty sincere to me."

"So what do we do now?" CJ inquired.

"We have to tell the President."

CJ nodded sadly.

"The First Lady's not gonna take this well. Michael's been dead thirty years and it's still an open wound for her."

Josh and Toby looked at her incredulously.

"You've talked to the First Lady about her brother's death?" Josh asked in disbelief.

"In passing," CJ answered unconvincingly.

"CJ."

"What do you want me to say? We're friends. She tells me things. Sometimes I need someone to talk to about my dad, and she's there. In return, she shares things with me too. It's just…you know…"

"Okay." Toby stopped her before things got any more awkward than they already were. "Josh, you want to do the honors?"

"CJ," Josh said. "Dial me the president."

CJ picked up the phone from her desk and handed it to him, then dialed the number.

As Dean Martin's "You Belong to Me" graced the background, Abbey Bartlet reached over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, her fingers barely touching the switch. Jed slowly pulled off her shoes and tossed them onto the floor without a care. He crawled closer until he was lying beside her and began undoing the buttons of her light blue sweater. She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips to his softly. Having succeeded in his task, Jed pushed the sweater off her shoulders and watched as she discarded it, leaving it to land on the floor alongside her forgotten shoes. Her fingers toyed with the buttons of his crisp white shirt while he nibbled on her earlobe gently. She closed her eyes at the sensation, losing all functional ability in her hands. He chuckled quietly and took over, finishing off the last two buttons and flinging the shirt on top of the sweater and the shoes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lowered himself on top of her, capturing her lips with his.

That, of course, was when the phone rang. Her lips still occupied, Abbey's arm reached out to the phone only to be pushed away by Jed's.

"Don't answer it," he whispered against her lips.

"We have to answer it," she replied. "Finland might've invaded Denmark or something."

"Yeah, 'cause that's not completely ludicrious."

He suppressed her laughter by kissing her once more, a kiss so intense that it caused her physical pain to break away and answer the phone. She picked it up, noting his audible groan, and pressed it against her ear.

"Hello?" She said, breathlessly.

"Mrs. Bartlet?" Abbey heard Josh's nervous voice, obviously assuming he had just interrupted something he shouldn't have. "It's…it's Josh, ma'am."

"Hold on."

She held out the phone to her husband. He rolled off of her and took it out of her hands.

"Yeah," the President said, just as breathlessly.

Now absolutely certain he had interrupted something he shouldn't have, Josh's voice grew more nervous and uncomfortable.

"It's Josh, sir."

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Mr. President, I have someone down here I think you ought to come see," Josh explained.

"Whoever it is can wait until morning," Jed said dismissively.

"I think if I let you postpone this, you're gonna be firing me in the morning as well."

Jed groaned and sat up against the headboard. Sighing, Abbey twiddled her thumbs anxiously and stared straight ahead.

"Who is it?"

"It's…your nephew, sir."

Jed frowned.

"It's my nephew? At nine o'clock at nine, one of my nephews is up here all the way from New England with some urgent business that requires speaking to me in person rather than calling?" He asked doubtfully. "Which one is it? Jake, Ryan, or Jason?"

"None of the above, sir."

"I beg your pardon?"

"His name is Max Bennett and I think…I think you're gonna want to just trust me on this, sir."

"Okay," Jed said, quietly, as the realization set in. "We'll be down in ten minutes."

He leaned over Abbey and replaced the phone on the receiver.

"What do you mean, 'we'll be down'?" Abbey questioned pointedly.

Lying back down beside her, Jed propped his elbow on the mattress and dropped his head in his hand, gazing at her sympathetically.

"What? What's going on?"

"Honey…is it possible that, before he died, Michael may have…fathered a child?"

Abbey's breath caught in her throat as her hand involuntarily rose to cover her mouth. Taking that as a yes, Jed leaned down and kissed her forehead reassuringly. He looked down plaintively at the heap of clothes on the floor.

"Come on, let's get dressed."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Josh hung up the phone and turned to the four pairs of anxious waiting eyes the surrounded him.

"Well, this night keeps getting better and better," he announced. "I just interrupted the First Couple engaging in a little recreational activities to tell them they have a nephew they never knew about. Now more than ever, I gotta say, I love this job."

"Well, that's awkward," Will commented.

"Just a little."

"What did the President say?" Toby questioned.

"They'll be down in ten minutes."

"We should get Leo in on this," CJ suggested.

"Yeah, let's move this little shindig to Leo's office. They'll have more privacy out that way anyhow," Josh agreed. "I'll go get Max."

"Okay," Will said. "Elsie, you get the chow mein."

"Hey!"

Leo McGarry's office was empty save for the man himself when they walked in. Will, Elsie, Toby, and CJ took a seat somewhere around the room while Josh stood beside Max. Leo stared at them with slight irritation, waiting for one of them to show initiative and explain to him exactly what was transpiring before his very eyes.

"Well?"

"Leo, this is Max Bennett."

"Yeah."

"He's the President's nephew."

Leo grimaced.

"What?"

"Yeah. His father is…"

"Michael," Leo whispered.

"You knew my father?" Max questioned, surprised.

"Oh, yeah." Leo stood up and approached the young man. "I was one of few, granted, but yeah, I knew him. You're the spitting image, too."

Max smiled.

"No one's ever said that to me before. I guess because I've never met anyone, besides my mom, who actually knew my father. I didn't. I was only a year old when he killed himself."

Leo nodded desolately.

"Who's your mother?"

"Patti Curtis."

"Okay. For a minute there, I was worried you were gonna say the Surgeon General," Leo said.

"I beg your pardon?" Max said.

"What!" CJ exclaimed.

"The Surgeon General…?" Toby raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Leo laughed. "Didn't you know? The Surgeon General used to date the First Lady's brother. Small world, isn't it?"

"And getting smaller," Josh mumbled.

"I assume one of you has called the President."

"Josh did," CJ answered. "He's on his way down with Mrs. Bartlet."

"All right. Somebody fix the First Lady a drink. She's gonna need one when she gets here. The rest of you, sit tight. It's gonna be one helluva night."

May, 1973

When Alexandra Bennett died, she left behind a legacy that was greater than her life. In the faces and aspirations of her husband and four children, her spirit remained. In every word they uttered, movement they dared to make, and every emotion they expertly conveyed, Alexandra was present. Her untimely death at the age of forty-two was largely considered to be one of the foremost tragedies to plague the small but industrious town of Andover, Massachusetts in quite some time. A formidable and beloved figure in the area, her limitless capacity to mold, inspire, motivate and love was constantly measured and tested until what little doubt there was of its existence evaporated completely. A little over a year prior to her demise, Alexandra was diagnosed with a severe case of ovarian cancer. The cancer, as most cancers do, traveled rapidly and soon had conquered every bone, every organ, and every cell. The impact of her death on those who knew her was nothing less than astounding. For, as the phrase had come to be, one funeral often leads to another.

The Holy Cross Cathedral in Boston was one of the most beautiful, yet modest, structures in the historical city. It was not overly ostentatious, nor exceedingly unadorned. It seemed, to local Catholics, an ideal place to practice their cherished faith. Often the church was filled with manmade illumination and strewn with smiles and hallelujahs. On the all too frequent occasion, however, the cathedral boasted only an aura of despair and remorse. May 11th, 1973 was one of those desolate occasions.

There were not quite as many people present as had been initially anticipated. Instead, the gathering was intimate, a fitting tribute to a life lost in less than heroic circumstances.The tears were expelled in abundance by those brave souls who managed,courageously, to attend. Those whose valor never threatened to exceed their dorment curiosity wept in isolation and, more than likely, in silence. There were only two ways to mourn the life of Michael Bennett, with pride and with shame, much in the same way he had oscillated through his final years.

Borne from the hallowed union of Andover's cherished darling and most accomplished, charismatic attorney, Michael Bennett had never envisioned his death would occur so inauspiciously. The many times he had visualized his death, the scenarios had jumped from taking a bullet for the innocent and losing a battle with a force greater than himself. The latter circumstance had proved to be just short of accurate. It was indeed a battle he had lost, but it was no insurmountable force that had defeated him. Michael Bennett, son of titleless royalty, had been crushed in the age-old battle against his own conscience. His mother would have been mortified.

The ceremony that officially extinguished Michael's inner fire in the eyes of the church was executed with little fanfare and moderate elegance.The priest who presided over the service had been hesitant in consenting his participation. The Catholic church, he insisted,did not condone such a death. The apprehensive priest was persuaded by the bishop to remove all qualms and thus, an exception was made. Nothing less would suffice for the deceased child of such upstanding citizens.The cause of bereavement was undisclosed during the ceremony. Words were not neccesary; there was not a mourner present who did not sadly acknowledge the true reason for Michael Bennett's passing.

An appropriately moving eulogy was given by one of Michael's three sisters.This particular sister was a rare and exquisite soul; she possessed all the virtues their parents exhibited and added a few of her own as well.Younger than he was by three agonizingly long years, this sister had loved him the best, the most, and the easiest. She denied that he was difficult to love, only that he was skeptical of receiving it. When the other two sisters tended to raise a white flag in favor of combating his heart, this sister treaded forward, never even entertaining a thought of retreating. She was the reason he had held on for as long as he did.

Her name, though it had changed once in the last six years, was Abigail Bartlet, née Bennett. Standing in front of the congregated mourners, she had been poised and not a little broken as she repeated, as if from memory, that words scribbled on the paper on the podium. Her delicate, striking features became more and more distinct with each tear that wandered down her porcelain cheek. Her flawless complexion was emphasized by the moist mascara that had gathered underneath her eyes. Mystifying as it certainly was, the general consensus was that her beauty was enhanced, if that was possible, by the appearance of grief. More mystifying was the origin of her exterior. She failed to resemble her mother, nor did she bear any perceptible likeness to her father. She seemed to be an impossible combination of both, a product of two intertwined souls, so much so that any trace of either parent was barely decipherable. This was the root of her fierce individuality; all eccentricities were developed as a result of this patent originality.

The heartfelt authenticity of the emotions elicited by the eulogy was felt by all who listened. This was a girl, a woman of hardly twenty-seven, who had lost her mother and her brother in two very different battles. In both cases, she had blamed herself, as any intense victim of such anguish would. She stepped down from the podium, her movements short and cautious so as not to let her agony guide her footsteps. She returned to the pew in the front and reclaimed her seat beside her devoted husband of six years, Jed Bartlet, and their daughter Elizabeth, who was just shy of her second birthday. The child had no way of knowing it then, but in years to come, the death of her godfather would prove to be devastating to her, despite the lack of time spent with him.

At the cemetary, the three remaining Bennett children clung to each other with a desperate yearning that brought stinging tears to their father's melancholy orbs.The oldest of his children was also the tallest, towering over the other two. Her name was Julia and, in her thirty-two years of freely roaming the earth, she had never married. Though her face lacked the startling beauty of Abigail's, she was attractive nonetheless. Whereas the latter was argumentative, impossible, and altogether beguiling, Julia was just argumentative and impossible. She did without the charm and magnetism bestowed upon her fellow siblings and, as a result, was left with a bitter and frigid imperviousness that could not be penetrated, not even by the tragic death of her younger brother. The youngest child of Nick and Alexandra Bennett was five years younger than the sibling closest to her in age. Michelle Bennett, although she was twenty-two, possessed the spirited innocence of a twelve-year-old. It was as if her growing twelve-year-old maturity had halted the moment her mother died and had not seized the opportunity to continue development since. The absence of hereditary female influence, instilled at such a young age, had caused a disillusionment that she either did not recognize or did not acknowledge. From her actions, it was unclear whether or not she was aware of her behavior on most occasions.Unlike Julia, Michelle wept copiously for her brother. She wept for his unfinished life and also for her unfinished attempt to fully understand and appreciate him.

For all the admiration and stature that surrounded him, the patriarch of the Bennett family was more grounded than the average lawyer, and the average man. Nicholas Bennett was brilliant, witty, passionate, and exorbitantly enigmatic. As executive assistant district attorney, he was also widely respected and envied. His tactics in the courtroom were often a little unconventional, but his track record put to rest any suspicions that his methods were ineffective or grossly unethical. In general, Nick was a jovial character and the sweetest, most considerate of men. As a father, he met all requirements and then some. His son, although he inherited, as all the children did, Nick's brilliance, was not even remotely similar in terms of behavior or beliefs.While this puzzled Nick greatly, it did not diminish his love for Michael in any sense of the phrase. In fact,observing his son's mannerisms had always fascinated him. Michael moved and spoke like no one he had ever met. Nick was ensorcelled by him.

The Bennetts stood alongside the grave site as the coffin was slowly lowered into the soil. Michelle closed her eyes and buried her face in Abbey's shoulder while Julia folded her arms across her chest and averted her eyes from the scene. Meanwhile, Nick could not remove his gaze from the coffin. He had watched the ground devour his wife, and now it was swallowing his son whole. As a father, this was his worst nightmare realized. When Michael was born, Nick had been in Germany fighting in the war. He had always felt a deep sense of guilt. At least he was able to put his son to rest.

Yes, one funeral often leads to another. The second to fall is unpredictable and often surprising. The second often falls harder and more brutally than the first. The path that leads to death is a long one.It's not the twists, the turns, the forks, or the blockades that enliven the journey. It's the people who blindly follow alongside the path, begging you to turn the other way.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

As they walked through the halls of the west wing, fingers entwined, they were not the President and First Lady. They were not the Drs. Bartlet. They were Jed and Abbey, facing a family crisis. There was no talk of political backlash, only emotional breakdown. Although they had changed into business attire, neither of them felt particularly professional. And although all eyes were locked upon them as they passed by, they felt completely alone.

When they reached the closed door to Leo's office, Abbey stopped, withdrawing her hand from his. She began wringing her hands anxiously and biting her lower lip.

"Abbey."

He separated her entangled fingers and placed her left hand back into his right.

"I'm gonna be right beside you the whole time. If you need to…"

"I'm fine," she said suddenly. "Let's go."

"Are you sure?"

Abbey nodded fervently. He sighed compliantly and opened the door. He then squeezed her hand reassuringly and lead her into the office. Inside, Leo was sitting on his desk talking with CJ and Will, who stood nearby. On the couch against the wall sat the young man. Although they had never seen him before, they both instantly felt as if they knew him well. While Jed was rendered speechless by the sight of him, Abbey gasped in surprise and struggled to keep breathing. Max's resemblance to his departed father through her completely off-balance, allowing melancholy memories to seep back into her mind. She lurched back suddenly and, with only a parting glance at her long lost nephew, darted out of the room. As expected, her husband was hot on her trail.

He caught her in the hallway and stopped her rapid movement. With two strong hands on her shoulders, he spun her around to face him directly. Her eyes were filled with tears, her lips trembling. He shook his head at her disapprovingly.

"Don't do this, Abbey."

She grimaced and averted her eyes away from his, which only made him more determined.

"I know how hard this is on you, trust me. But there's a kid in there who has lost both his mother and his father, and he's looking to you for guidance."

Abbey shook her head.

"He must be thirty years old, Jed."

"Age makes no difference in a situation like this. That young man is the only remaining piece of your brother, Abbey. Are you really gonna leave him sitting in there?"

She hesitated, and he could see the wheels turning in her head.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She nodded, the tears in her eyes resurfacing.

"Jed…"

"What, honey?" He asked, compassionately.

"He looks just like him," Abbey said, simply.

The brevity of her words cut through him like a knife, no further explanation neccesary.

"I know." He smiled. "Handsome kid."

She returned the smile, ever so faintly.

"Yeah."

"Ready?"

She nodded. He draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back into the office, where Max Bennett waited, an apprehensive expression plain on his face. This time, instead of recoiling at the sight of him, Abbey felt her maternal instinct kick in. She smiled and sat down beside him on the couch. Leo nodded to Will and CJ and, seconds later, that had taken their leave.

"Well," Abbey said, attempting to sigh away the discomfiture that had set in around them. "You truly are your father's son." She glanced up at her husband for assistance. "Isn't he, Jed?"

"Absolutely."

Lost for words, Max reached into his pocket and retrieved the photograph that he had shown Josh only half an hour earlier.

"Oh, uh…here."

He handed it to Abbey, who regarded it with a sort of cautious awe. She ran her fingers over the image gently before turning it over to read the message scribbled haphazardly on the back. She sighed at the note, remembering when she had sat down to write it. Then, he handed it to her husband, who gazed upon it much in the same way.

"1966," Abbey said, nostalgically. "Do you remember that?"

"Looks like your twentieth birthday. We went into Boston for the day."

He returned the photograph to her and she returned it to Max.

"We weren't married then," she explained to her nephew.

"I know," Max replied, with a nervous speed to his language. "July 27th, 1967."

Abbey laughed quietly.

"You've really done your homework, haven't you?"

"Well, it's not exactly difficult information to come by," Max said, self-deprecatingly.

"Yes."

"Uh, Max." The President cleared his throat. "Can I ask, out of pure curiosity, why you've decided to come forward now, after all these years?"

"Jed." Abbey glared at him warningly. He shrugged in response.

"No, it's okay," Max said. "Desperation, sir."

Jed raised an eyebrow.

"Desperation?"

"Yes. You see, I used to work for Congressman Fields, that is until…"

"Right. I see."

"I haven't been able to find work in the area, and moving back to New England just isn't an option at this point. With my mother gone, there's no one."

"Actually," Abbey interjected. "You have a grandfather, step-grandmother, two aunts and four cousins in the area. Seven, if you count our children." When Max didn't respond, mostly out of fear and discomfort, Abbey continued. "That being said, I understand your desire to stay in DC and, of course, I'd love to have you on my staff."

Max's face broke out into a huge grin.

"I can't tell you how much this means to me."

Abbey smiled back at him.

"You don't need to."

THE END 


End file.
